Chicken Wrap

Feelings feel freshest in the morning, but tonight the dullness of the day-long day will do. A slip of the wrist and a slap of the tongue—flip-flap-flap—chicken wrap!

Unwrapping the cellophane, it crinkles. Chick-chick-chicken smell mixed with mayonnaise and cheese. Green lettuce stickin' out—showin' through the seams—as the tortilla strips with wet finger tips. Yup! It's chicken! I was just checkin' before I took a bite. Mmmmm delicious, kind-of. No not really. That was the hungry speaking before the taste of cardboard and wet juice meat was squeezed all over my tongue.

Chick-chick-chicken. Chew-chew-chicken. Doo-doo-dickin' around. Spit it out, all over my computer screen. It's sticking! And sliding! And smearing on it's own! That's the force of gravity at work. Look-look-look it. Look-look-look it's sliding down and dripping! I think it needs some more. Another bite! Pthewey! Swirly chicken fingers make a greasy surface in which I write the words, “Chicken wrap everything up.” Then I lick a part in the middle to make it read, “Chick      rap every      up.”

Nonsense. The chicken wrap was eaten in silence and the cellophane wrapper was discarded and eventually lodged in the ground where it waited and waited and waited to be discovered by future human beings—the kind that survived the mess we made and dug up the earth looking for clues as to how we could have been so destructive on purpose, knowing better.

Nonsense. I made the chicken wrap up, based on true events (cellophane future part).

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